


Time deals gently only with those who take it gently

by Angeline Farewell (Neve83)



Category: Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Forced Marriage, Implied Mpreg, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Intersex Loki (Marvel), M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 13:19:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12865335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neve83/pseuds/Angeline%20Farewell
Summary: [...]It’s dark, and Loki prefers it that way. He doesn’t want to look at the room. Doesn’t want to look at himself. But Thor is in the room too, and he can’t be ignored, his golden hair reflect the moonlight like a halo. Beautiful, everyone would say. Loki is lucky to be his consort.I suppose.Loki doesn’t feel lucky, Thor seems to share his sentiment, if the way he’s looking at him is of any indication. If the way he’s nursing his cup of liquor is of any indication.[...]





	Time deals gently only with those who take it gently

**Author's Note:**

> This is my very first all-thorki fic and I obviously chose my fave trope to break the ice! 
> 
> Also, English is not my mother language and this is not beta-ed, so, if someone notices some mistakes/typos/whatever, please, let me know.  
> Thank you! <3

Moonlight is the only light source in the room.

It’s dark, and Loki prefers it that way. He doesn’t want to look at the room. Doesn’t want to look at himself. But Thor is in the room too, and he can’t be ignored, his golden hair reflect the moonlight like a halo. _Beautiful_ , everyone would say. Loki is lucky to be his consort.

_I suppose._

Loki doesn’t feel lucky, Thor seems to share his sentiment, if the way he’s looking at him is of any indication. If the way he’s nursing his cup of liquor is of any indication.

“You are naked.”

And Thor’s stating the obvious, but Loki refrains to say it. Thor just took off his tunic, but Loki is naked because it is their wedding night, and they are in their bedchambers, Loki is on their nuptial bed. Of course he is naked. Even if he would rather not be. But Loki needs to be there, naked in that bed, because he is a prince, and Thor his a prince, and their marriage was politics and needed to straighten peace, and _whatever_.

“It’s our wedding night, some… _things_ are expected of us. Like a child.”

Thor sighs and diverts his eyes, as if he won’t be Loki the one crushed under all that burly, colorless meat. Loki almost shudders at the thought. But if they’ll be able to produce a child, or even better, a heir, on their first night together, maybe there won’t be more to share.

“How old are you, again?”

“We are almost the same age.”

It’s true. And Thor’s skepticism is insulting. Even if he’s a Jotun, and Jotuns grow at a slow pace, Loki is old enough. _He is_.

“Then we have time.”

And Loki’s taken aback. Thor drains his cup, and finally looks at him. The moon shines behind his back, and it’s distracting, because Loki has never seen hair so bright, they’re like a mirror reflecting the moon. Or maybe the moon took home among them. Actually, Loki has never seen hair besides his own. Another peculiarity of his _condition_.

“We have time.”

“You already said that. But I don’t understand.”

“You don’t want to be here.” 

A statement. And a truth. Loki doesn’t want to be there, on Asgard, but he doesn’t want to go back home either. _Home_. Jotunheim hardly ever felt like _home_.

No, Loki just would like to be free, for once, to go as he pleases, to be whatever he wants to be. But he can’t, and not because of duty, as for Asgard golden heir, but because his Lord Father spoke clearly, and the only reason he’s still alive and not buried down in the ocean like every other runts that now and then plagued the Reign, is because of that expected marriage.

“Neither do you.”                        

A half, self deprecating smile is all the answers he needs. Loki knows he’s not of Asgard _tastes_ when it comes to bed matters, but so is Thor in Loki’s eyes. He is so pallid, and hairy… Loki can see a little blond tuft above the hem of Thor’s trousers, and it’s so strange to think someone could have hair down _there_. Loki will never admit he’s curious, though.

“And so, we have time.”

It’s a trap. It has to be, because Loki knows how these things go, and they have to consummate the marriage and have a child. Then, maybe, they will leave him be.

He could try to run away, even. When the child will be born, his task will be completed. Loki doesn’t want children anyway, he’ll leave it with them.

Loki needs to lie with Thor first, though. Should he seduces this stubborn Às, maybe? Just the thought makes the little food he’d eaten at the feast threaten to crawl up his throat.

But he is not brave enough to conjure a dagger to stick in between Thor’s ribs: he doesn’t want to die, thus his current predicament. He _needs_ to carry Thor’s heir, even if he doesn’t want to, and he feels overawed by Thor mere presence. He’s too small to be a true Frost Giant, but looking at Thor, maybe he isn’t big enough to be an Asgardian either.

_Just mount me and let’s stop this farce._

Thor moves, slow and elegant like a mountain wolf, sits at the foot of their big bed, and Loki wants to scream, but he remains still. There, he will be satisfied.

“Loki. We _need_ time.”

Loki exhales the breath he doesn’t know he was holding, he’s mortified to hear a whimper comes out too. He doesn’t have time. He planned everything out, just a year or little more on that Realm and then he would be free. But he can’t run away without give them a heir, they would chase him down, the treaty would be broken, Norns, Jotunheim would chase him up to Hel if he won’t give Asgard what’s due.

What _he_ needs is to go away. He waited long enough to be free, and he desperately needs it.

“What are you doing…?”

Thor wasn’t expecting it, and Loki too didn’t believe he would come to that. But Thor’s not founding him appealing enough, so he has to help him. Even if it sickens him.

His hair remains black as night, but the hue of his skin slowly drifts away, leaving Loki as white as the snow of Jotunheim. He will the crimson away from his eyes, doesn’t know what’s left behind and tries not to care. Maybe they are now like Thor’s eyes, them too downright akin to a mountain wolf’s.

Now, he as well looks like these fair skinned _monsters_.

“Am I more _tempting_ like this?”

Thor doesn’t look pleased. Why he’s not pleased? Loki can’t really see himself, maybe he didn’t do the eyes colour right? The skin is too creamy like, not enough hair on his body? What’s the problem with this oaf? If the too loud whispers he heard all evening at the wedding feast were true, Thor shouldn’t have problem bedding any sort of partner, why he’s not doing what he needs to do to get Loki pregnant? Preferably quickly, but Loki knows his say is of little importance in that matter.

“You were _tempting_ enough as yourself, _this_ is not needed.”

 _Not needed_. What’s required then? He doesn’t want to be there a day longer than needed, Loki doesn’t want to wait!

Humiliation creeps through his cheeks, down his neck. Desperation is even more overwhelming. Loki doesn’t know what to do anymore, what magic trick would win this broad-shouldered beast over.

_I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to be here!_

He’s not thinking straight when he pounces on Thor so hard he knocks them both out of the bed and down the floor. Thor is under him, blue eyes wide open, but doesn’t try to free himself.

Maybe because of the dagger at his throat.

No one talks for what seems eons, Loki’s labored breath is the only noise in the room. Thor is motionless, but his look betrays something akin to awe.

“You are crying.”

Another statement. Loki hates Thor’s controlled tone, his refined composure even in such a moment. _I could kill you now_.

He should.

“You are trembling.”

Thor’s hands are on his nude thighs, lights as feathers. And Loki has to agree with him, he’s shaking, he realizes it while inching away the dagger from Thor’s throat.

_What have I done?_

He tries to hurtle away, but Thor’s hands tie Loki in place above him. His hands are sure and warm, strangely gentle, all things considered, and Loki doesn’t know what to do. What will Thor do?

“See? That’s the reason we must wait. We need time.”

Loki feels the burning need to laugh. And he tries, but all that comes out of his throat is a strangled cry, while more tears drop down Thor’s chest.

Time? Loki doesn’t have time, but how could Thor understand his struggles? With his Golden Realm at his feet, drenched in his privileged colours, what did he know about time, and fear of losing it forever? What did he know about fear, Thor, the Defeater’s heir and pride?

 “I’m sorry…”

Loki is still crying and, actually, wailing is grievances for all to hear. Thor doesn’t dare to touch him apart from the hands still on Loki’s upper legs. He doesn’t move, and Loki is vaguely grateful for this, because right now he doesn’t really know how to handle himself either.

When he tries again to shakily stand up from Thor’s lap, he lets him go this time. Loki sits again on the verge of the bed, covers himself with one of the big, soft cushions on his lap. Thor, apparently, needs more liquor.

“There. It looks like you need something strong.”

To Loki’s surprise, it’s not a cup that Thor’s offering him, but a rich, delicate pastry on a napkin.

“You ate almost nothing at our banquet.”

Loki would like to argue, but he’s drained even of spite. He takes the tartlet without looking at Thor, who sits next to him. Close enough to make him squirm a little, but Loki doesn’t want to push his luck and doesn’t scoot away.

“My parents’ marriage was arranged too, like ours. It’s been happy and full of affection so far.”

“Mine’s too. And it wasn’t, at all.”

Silence again. Awkward and heavy. Odin and Frigga are the talk of the Nines, everyone knows how much the Defeater loves his caring wife, requited. Unheard of, for a marriage of convenience.

His sire lies down the frozen depths of the ocean in lieu of Loki: a runt bearer instead of the runt. Someone had to pay for the dishonor, and Loki’s little body was deemed apt for an Asgardian man bed.

Loki doesn’t tell any of it, though, it would add humiliation to the harm. It’s easy to fable about time and happiness and future, when you had them all your life. Loki’s time had been made of stone, enclosed in the hourglass that counted down the seconds left to their marriage.

Time and freedom are all Loki could think about, and he’s not interested in trading a captivity to another. Even if better packaged and all shiny.

Thor’s destroying his last chance to have a life of his own.

_Let me give you a damn child, the sooner the better._

“Let’s make a deal.”

“What? We are already married, Odinson, what other deal would you possibly want?”

“That wasn’t our agreement, it’s our fathers’. If we want to make something good out of all of this we need to define what we want and how to get it without endangering the treaty.”

“This is nonsense.”

And a waste of time. Loki doesn’t want to define anything, he just want to run. But what can he say without betray his plan to escape?

“I will prove to you it’s not. Please, just give me a little more time.”

Time, again.

“And if nothing good will come? What will you do then?”

“I can tell you what I _won’t_ do. You’re not a prisoner, Loki, you’re my consort and a prince of Asgard. This is now your home as much as mine, and no one, not even me, will ever force you to do something you’re uncomfortable with.”

_As if._

“We'll see, then.”

“Deal?”

“Deal.”

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, and I dis art for it! Take a look [there](http://angeline-farewell.tumblr.com/post/168024550543/its-dark-and-loki-prefers-it-that-way-he), I worked on them a lot. Thank you! <3


End file.
